


Just Say I do

by Nanimok



Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: A drop, Accidental Marriage, Beanie Abuse, Crack Treated Seriously, Cruise Ships, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Shotgun Wedding, Speedrun of a mission fic, a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27959693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: Like most missions, Alex wakes up shirtless in a strange bed with no memory of the night before. Unlike most missions, someone's right beside him.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 7
Kudos: 108
Collections: AR Fic Exchange 2020





	Just Say I do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzie_Shooter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/gifts).



While Alex would like to say that it’s not often he wakes up half-naked with no memory of what happened the night before, that would be a complete and total lie. Even more so if he said that it never happened during a mission. Really, something about him must scream ‘take my shirt off!’ because that seems to be the common thread about all the people he’s spied for MI6 ever since he was fourteen. He’s not that attractive. They’re all just pervs.

So, no, Alex isn’t really _that_ worried about waking up in nothing but his brief and a heavy blanket of fuzziness in his mind. He’s more surprised at how comfortable his bedding is; his pillow brushes against his cheek, the sheets are as fluffy as a cloud, and his blanket is a warm, thick, cosy layer over him. There’s a pounding in his head, and the air outside the blanket is cold and chilly. Makes him snuggle even closer towards the blazing wall of heat pressed against his side.

Alex sighs as the warmth travels along his back. A snake-like hot water bottle stroking up his spine and down again, slipping under the band of his underwear and resting soundly on his ass-cheek—

Hold on.

That is a _very_ possessive hold the blanket has on his ass. He’d put up more of a fight if he wasn’t so comfortable right now. It almost feels like a hand palming his cheeks, massaging them without a care in the world. Actually… why is the blanket possessively pawing at his ass? Alex is pretty sure blankets don’t have hands.

“What the fuck…?” Alex says, fighting against the cloud of haziness in his head. He rubs at the bleariness in his eyes and yawns. His elbow smacks against the bedside as he stretches.

The bedside rumbles and the fingers on his ass digs into his skin.

Alex’s eyes snap open.

“Stop moving,” says a very naked Yassen Gregorovich, giving his ass a punishing squeeze. “Too early.”

His jaw almost drops to the floor. “What the fuck?” Alex says again. “What the _fuck_!”

Yassen peels one irate eye open and Alex can see red on the edges. “Alex,” he warns.

A barrage of questions pop in his head. A part of him points out that Yassen always wakes up early but—how does he know that? When did he ever find that out? Scratch that. What is Yassen doing beside him in bed, why are they basically naked and why is Yassen holding onto his ass like it’s a holy cross and he’s a humble and pious man warding off a bad spirit? He’s pretty sure Yassen isn’t even religious.

“You’re not even religious,” Alex blurts out.

Yassen’s eyebrows are drawn tight in the middle. Many people find Yassen a hard man to read. Alex disagrees. It’s simply easy to see that right now Yassen thinks he’s batshit crazy.

“I mean,” Alex says, “what are you doing here? Why are you naked? Why does my head hurt and what the bloody hell happened last night?”

Closing his eyes, Yassen sighs. “You’re not letting me sleep until you get your answers, aren’t you?”

“Hell no!”

“Sasha,” Yassen says slowly. “Let me repeat again: it is too early. It feels like there is an orchestra playing right now, but none of them are particularly in tune and I suspect that it’s the same with you. If, that is, it is different from what usually goes on inside your head.”

“Rude.”

Yassen pulls him closer by his—well. Alex should really do something about that. Yassen’s fingers are fluttering much too freely to his liking. Taking the hand lounging on his ass, Alex slips it outside the band of his underwear. But Yassen is undeterred. His hands finds its new home on his lower back, thumb teasing at the edges of his underwear.

Pointing out his handsy-ness feels like admitting defeat and Alex refuses to give in. Unless Yassen is relying on this kind of thinking to make Alex naturally back down. Either way, the pounding in his head is only getting worse and Alex regrets ever becoming cognizant of his own being. Mind games—it’s always mind games with these kinds of people, his uncle included. In his opinion, everything after learning how to read was a mistake.

“Rest,” Yassen says. “We will deal with it later. Once we have more sleep.”

“My name’s not Sasha.”

“It is in Russian.”

“No it isn’t.”

Yassen doesn’t reply, but his silence says it all. He tugs Alex insistently back under the covers.

Alex fights the urge for a solid second, because even though he was plastered all over Yassen’s chest just an hour before, he doesn’t want to come off as particularly easy. But this was before Yassen manhandled him into a proper sleeping position. As soon as Alex is in the blanket, a wave of warmth and lethargy floods over him. Yassen is warm and solid and safe. His even breathing lulls Alex until it feels like he’s tipping on the edge of sleep.

Not without a good amount of grumbling, however. “How would you like it if I start making up cutesy nicknames for you?” 

“Hmm,” Yassen says. “I would like it very much, actually. Unlike the present company, my ego isn’t so fragile that it is shattered by an affectionate nickname.”

Alex bats at Yassen’s chest. Weakly. “Not like that. Isn’t my name in Russian Alexander or something?”

“Yes,” Yassen says, his own voice a low and sleepy mumble. “It is.”

“Then why Sasha?”

“Sasha, Sashunya, Alexandrushka, Shurochka—”

_Yasha._

“—They’re all diminutives for Alexandre.”

A small voice wants to pipe up if Yasha is a diminutive for Yassen. What Alex says instead, however, is, “Some of them don’t seem much shorter than Alexander.”

“But they are cuter.” The corner of Yassen’s lips almost twitches into a smile. “I will explain. Sleep, first. Then we can talk as much as you want about long nicknames and the wedding rings on our fingers.”

It’s because Alex is so comfortable. That’s what he tells himself. It’s because Alex is sleepy and Yassen is very cuddly that Alex misses the fact that his left hand has a very shiny, new, golden band wrapped around its fourth finger.

Once again, Alex’s eyes snap wide open.

* * *

Alex keeps his eyes closed and breath even while Yassen rolls out from their bed. Every hair on his body seems attuned to Yassen’s movement even though Alex can’t see him. There’s a soft rustling on the bed. Then, a quiet creak. Alex is certain Yassen is sitting up now. He probably knows Alex is faking but he does nothing to call Alex’s bluff. Instead, he combs Alex’s hair back with his fingers, before stretching his arms and walking into the bathroom.

There’s a drumming inside his chest. It’s not quite an unpleasant sensation, Alex supposes, as he peels his eyes open. It’s warm and tingly, starting from his chest and leeching down to his toes. A little bit like being on the verge of a stroke, and yeah, that sums it up. His feelings for Yassen have always been like a life-threatening affliction.

That’s a thought for another time. Alex reaches for his phone, is immediately distracted by light bouncing off his fourth finger.

_31 missed calls from Tommy boy._

Wincing, Alex squares his shoulders while answering. “Hello?”

 _“What were you thinking?”_ Tom’s voice comes out in a rush. _“First of all, you ditched me last night and I had no idea where you were half the time. So thanks for that, you asshole. Then you drag me into some kind of cheap, shoddy wedding with your sugar daddy before you up and disappear on me—again! I thought you were dead or something! Or thrown overboard when you didn’t answer my calls for the bloody-nth time—"_

The shower stops running. Alex’s attention jumps straight from Tom’s tirade to Yassen’s lean, _fresh_ figure walking into the bedroom with a towel around his hips. Although lean isn’t quite the right word—at least not on its own. Yassen is compact, tightly packed with corded muscles. Yet, he still retains a graceful figure that not even Wolf _(Wolf!)_ has.

Does he notice the droplets of water running down the curls on his chest? Should Alex tell him that he missed a spot? That would require to take back control of his mouth and asking him to stop drooling seems like a reach right now.

Alex catches sight of a half-smile forming in his mouth as Yassen tugs on his shirt. His biceps flex as he slides it over his head—toned biceps Yassen could wrap around and muffle him with if he chooses to.

“You’ll catch flies if you don’t stop opening your mouth sometime soon.”

Heat shoots up to his cheeks. Shutting his jaw, Alex fumbles in his head for a comeback. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m not. On the contrary…” Yassen wraps his belt around his hips and the sight—the angle of his torso, his firm and sure hands against the strap of leather—is interesting Little Alex ( _Sashenka?_ ) a bit too much. He raises one eyebrow. “I think having your mouth wide open is a good look on you.”

Alex chokes on his inhale. “I—” he sputters. “You—”

He settles for burying his head under the pillow even as Yassen chuckles.

 _“Who is that?”_ Tom demands. “ _Is that your sugar daddy? Or is it your husband now—oh my god—”_

Oh yeah, he’s still on the phone. “He’s not my sugar daddy,” Alex says on the phone, shooting Yassen a glare.

“ _But he is your husband?”_

That shuts Alex up. He is now, isn’t he?

 _“Oh my god,”_ Tom says, again. _“Getting married before you even graduate uni… Jack is going to flay you alive for this.”_

“Only if you tell her,” Alex says. “So don’t. At least, not right now. I’m… I don’t even remember half of what happened last night.”

Which is honest to god worrying. If Alex had drunk too much, he would expect to at least remember drinking in the first place. This isn’t common and it’s most certainly not an accident.

_“Well, what do you remember?”_

“You, me, a favour—" _Blackmail, “_ —the cruise ship.” He lowers his voice and throws a peek at Yassen—who’s setting up his computer by the kitchenette table. “…stuff.”

_“Did you at least remember that you had the keys to our room before you ditched me?”_

“Whoops,” Alex says, spying his pants thrown over a chair. “Sorry about that.”

_“Yeah, well, had to call in management. Felt like a real Karen, not going to lie.”_

“Not with that beanie, you’re not,” Yassen mutters quietly, and Alex bites his lip, smothering his agreement down. 

_“What? Did you say something?”_

“Nothing at all,” Alex lies. “We separated from each other. Why did we separate from each other?”

No sound over the phone, but Alex can just imagine Tom shrugging his shoulders. _“You tell me,”_ Tom says. _“You said you had… personal business to take care of and I took it to meant that you went off to do some business-business, you know? So, I went out to the dockside and took some pictures. Ended up chatting to this really nice girl and all of a sudden, you called me to come to the main hall ‘cus you wanted me to be the best man for your wedding.”_

“Aw, fuck,” Alex says. He could tell by the slight pause of Yassen’s typing that he too hadn’t expected how public their union was. “So everyone saw?”

 _“Everyone and their mums probably,”_ Tom says regretfully. _“Pretty sure someone was livestreaming it on Instagram.”_

And Tom precedes to link him said video and accompanying memes which… not only does that mean his disguise is blown (amongst other things according to the comments) but people are affectionately calling him a twink when he _obviously_ qualifies as a twunk. How dare they!

Once more, Alex buries his face into his pillow and screeches like a poor unfortunate soul who just walked in on Wolf hungrily stripping off Smither’s fatsuit while they were innocently in search of a mop bucket. He mourns for his job, his dignity, all pretence of anonymity and possibly the most hopeless of all; his muscle mass density.

Suddenly, the mattress dips and a warm weight rests by his hip. Alex twitches as Yassen slides the phone from his hand. “I’m borrowing Alex,” Yassen says.

Tom squeaks at the very decidedly not Alex voice and Yassen hangs up.

Alex isn’t sulky. He isn’t. Dying from embarrassment isn’t how he thought he would go, but he’s adaptable. “Are you going to at least pretend that you weren’t listening in the phone call?” he asks.

“Hmm,” Yassen says, resting one hand idly over the blanket that’s conveniently covering his flank and his—you guessed it; his ass. Scowling, Alex rolls over but Yassen’s hand doesn’t budge, getting squashed in the process.

“We could use this opportunity to both of our benefits,” Yassen says, with a stern face. He wiggles his fingers case-in-point. 

Alex ignores Yassen and his kneading fingers. “What? Like, being married? Why? I don’t shoot people and make bodies disappear.”

“I’m retired, Alex,” Yassen says. “I only shoot. It’s up to my clients how they make the bodies disappear.”

“Wow,” Alex says. “You’re practically an ordained priest.”

Yassen shrugs. “I suppose, that’s one way to get you on your knees. But I digress,” he continues, when Alex sputters, “I was hired for surveillance. Possibly for the same man or the same object.”

It’s always a matter of give and take with Yassen. It could be that Yassen has always known about Alex’s target and he’s lying to trick Alex’s co-operation. It could be that Yassen’s target is completely different and Alex’s co-operation would mean no interference with his own mission. In both case, Alex has stopped asking why Yassen is always interested. The answer is clear every time he wakes with the other side of his bed ruffled and empty. 

He has more than just surveillance to accomplish. If there is something sketchy going on this ship then MI6 expects him to retrieve it. But Alex is already a bit pissed with MI6 for dragging Tom in anyway, so there’s going to be no guarantees on his end. 

“So what?” Alex says, suddenly exhausted. “You want us to follow this guy around and pretend to be snogging whenever he catches us?” He breaks off into a scoff.

Yassen nods. He’s completely serious. “Yes, exactly.”

“What?”

“We won’t be pretending, because that’s exactly what we’ll be doing.”

 _“What?”_ Alex shakes his head. “That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“Sasha,” Yassen says. “We were married in front of the whole ship. No one will question us if we were found somewhere we shouldn’t be in.”

“But it wasn’t like, real, wasn’t it?” 

“You tell me,” Yassen says. And with that he brings his laptop over and places it on Alex’s lap.

Alex sweeps one look at the black background, the orange accents before his eyes widen and his head snaps right back to Yassen.

“Pornhub?” Alex asks incredulously. “Why is our wedding uploaded in _Pornhub_?”

It’s not like Alex never thought he’d up there—his ass won’t quit, just as much as Blunt won’t _let_ him quit MI6—but oh, lord. They didn’t fuck on stage, did they?

Yassen points Alex’s chin back to the screen. “Watch the video.”

And Alex, half-naked in bed with no memory of the night before, does not hesitate to play the porn site video his older companion has given him. Yeah, self-preservation isn’t his strongest suit.

The camerawork is shaky, but Alex can see him and Yassen over a flood of shoulders bumping against the camera person. Alex is holding Yassen’s hand and Yassen—Yassen’s expression looks softer than a feather pillow. The creases around his eyes has doubled since his retirement, yet the small smile on his face lifts the untouchable veneer wrapped around Yassen and undoes it into something warmer, even more youthful. 

Alex squints at the video. Why is their marriage officiant dressed like Elvis?

 _“Life is not kind,”_ says the Yassen in the video. _“Nor is it fair. It has never been to me or anyone I know.”_ In the silence that shields the both of them like a bubble, Yassen traces the line of Alex’s jaw. _“But… I suppose I can forgive it now. For as long as you’ll have me.”_

Several ‘ _awws’_ ring around the room. A dopey smile forms on his face—the Alex in the video’s face. Is that what he looks like when he smiles? Surely, his face doesn’t look so round or so… teary.

Then, the Alex in the video forgoes any kind of vow for wrapping his legs around Yassen’s hips, kissing him ravenously to the chorus of whoops and cheers in the crowd. The marriage officiant rapidly strums his ukulele and yells the rest of the ceremony while Yassen and Alex carry on snogging in the background.

Cheeks feeling like a boat he exploded on accident, Alex scrolls down to the comments.

_…came here to jack off and now im in tears… hope their marriage lasts…_

_…im straight but bro this shit is too sweet…_

_…no need to flex ur loving relationship…_

_…sometimes… bros just want to fuck and share a life together… what about it…_

He slams the laptop shut. He _refuses_ to meet Yassen’s eyes.

As if that would deter Yassen. “What’s wrong, Sasha?” he asks with amusement in his voice. “You’re redder than a roasted tomato. Nervous about being married? Do not worry, I’ll be gentle.”

“Fuck off,” Alex says.

This time, Yassen actually barks out a laugh.

* * *

It turns out, Yassen is pretty serious about their marriage. Once Alex finally rouses himself from bed, they head into the hall for some breakfast, Yassen’s hand resting in Alex’s pocket the whole way. Once they’re seated, Yassen goes off to grab his plate as well.

 _Maybe having a husband isn’t that,_ Alex thinks, watching the back of Yassen’s jeans as he walks away. _Having a full-time servant at your beck and call…_

“Excuse me.”

Alex blinks, his attention snapping back to the pair of girls in front of him.

“I’m sorry we left before we can pass on our congratulations,” one of the girls says. “Thank you so much for inviting us to the wedding!”

“Yes!” The other girl swoons and places a hand on her heart. “It was the most romantic thing ever… You’ve even made the lap dance from Magic Mike _romantic._ ”

“I did what now,” Alex says.

And so brings the barrage of well-wishers blessing his marriage. Time ticks slower than MI6 sending in reinforcements. There are some quite memorable ones, however. Among of which are:

“Man, I can’t remember much,” a fellow dancer says. “But that one move you did with your leg over your shoulder? Amazing.”

“What really got to me was the hip thrust you did pre-chorus,” another person says. “Tell me, are you a professional dancer? Were you classically trained?”

“You’ve really inspired us,” one couple says, holding his fiancé’s—welp, newly husband it seems, from the gold band on their hands. “We got married right after you both did. The wedding was so beautiful… it really pushed us to take the plunge.”

The other husband laughs. “The alcohol helped.”

“You guys got married too?” a woman asks. “Oh! You must be the couple who got married right before we did…”

“Your lap dance for your husband was really impressive on re-watch,” one man says, handing Alex a card. “If you’re ever in search of work—”

He’s cut off by a Yassen who mysteriously appears out of thin air with their plates of food in his hand, and a Tom shuffling his feet, undecided between running away from Yassen’s air of doom or standing closer for the bubble of protection. Yassen ends up sending the man running with a stern look. He places their plates down and ushers Alex into his seat with one possessive hand on his booty. For once, Alex is grateful for Yassen’s overenthusiasm for his rear. It gives Alex something else to focus on other than the fluttering in his stomach at all the people cooing about him and Yassen being a cute couple.

“Wish they left wedding gifts as well,” Tom says, sitting down. “Then again, you guys weren’t the only ones who got married last night. It was wild.”

“Tom?” Alex asks, surprised. His eyes flash to Yassen and back. “You guys have… already met?”

“He knows,” Yassen says drily. “I figured that if he was your friend, it would be better to keep him informed less he lands himself into trouble poking his nose in places it shouldn’t be in.”

Tom shrugs. “He’s got you there.”

“Where were you?” Alex digs his hand into Yassen’s arm. “What took you guys so long? I thought I was going to die with an empty stomach and someone complimenting on a hip thrust that I don’t even remember making for the seventy-nth time.” 

Rolling his eyes, Yassen points to the plate of eggs benedict with hash brown, salmon fillet, roasted tomatoes and steamed spinach in front of him. The smell sends his stomach rumbling and tongue drying. Alex perks up as Yassen gives him the plate with the bigger slice of salmon.

“Personally, I thought the thing you did while having your leg behind your shoulder was more impressive,” Tom says.

“Me too,” Alex says in all honesty. “That sounded way more technical but apparently the hip thrust left an impression.”

Yassen frowns, which either means that he prefers the leg-shoulder trick or, like Alex, his memory of last night is probably fuzzy at best.

“There are… things we need to talk about,” Yassen says, his index and third finger resting on his chin. “Events we need to set straight.” His eyes flick to the both of them and back. “How about we reconvene in mine and Alex’s room after breakfast?”

“That’s not my room,” Alex points out.

Yassen’s butt-happy hand slides up to rest on his hips. “ _Our_ room is bigger than the one you share with Tom… and it has all the facilities a man needs to pamper his younger, newly-wedded husband.”

A pleasant shudder tingles down Alex’s spine at the word ‘husband’ and coils around his lower belly. “Pampering, you say,” Alex says. “I’m not really the champagne and bubble bath kind of guy. You’re going to need to work a bit harder than that to impress me.”

Small creases form in the corner of Yassen’s eyes. “If you are not a fan of bubble baths, it’s only because you’ve never taken the time to fully appreciate them properly. But I will be there to show you. And I promise to be very slow and very thorough.”

“Uhm,” Tom says, once Yassen’s voice devolves into a low, silky murmur. “Just like to remind you two that I’m still here.”

Like a rope snapping by its threads, Alex springs away from him. Yassen closes his eyes and sighs. “Unfortunately, it does include you. I trust you can find your own way there?” he asks.

Tom gulps. “I can.”

“Good.”

“I mean, if I’m being honest here I don’t see why I have to be there… I was kind of only here to make Alex’s cover more convincing, you know, two bros in a singles’ cruise trying to find true love. Surely, this is something Alex can keep me up to date with over the phone—"

“Bring your beanie wearing self or I will burn said floppy creature on your head on sight,” Yassen says.

“ _Eep_ ,” Tom squeaks, hands flying to his head. “Okay! I’ll just—I agreed to meet up with a friend anyway—not that I’ll say anything about this! We’re pretty new friends and—just—bye!”

Tom then bolts from his seat. Alex didn’t even think Tom could run that fast, and this is from a guy who’ve shared years’ worth of PE class with him.

“Stop being so mean,” Alex says. “He’s terrified of you.”

Yassen huffs, but it’s not necessarily a bad huff. “He’s funny,” he says, before he starts digging into his meal.

* * *

Reconvening in Yassen’s room really is for the best. Alex found a couple of covert listening devices in their suite, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Yassen was more thorough with his search. Despite feeling eternally old and exhausted at MI6’s antics, Alex still feels new in some aspect of his spying. Yassen is an old hand in this and Alex knows his hands very well.

Together, they parse pieces of the night together with Tom’s account providing the bulk of their findings, surprisingly.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said you weren’t the only couple that got married, by the way,” Tom says, “You two were just the first of the night. Someone caught me recording myself outside after and dragged me in to do their wedding. The next thing I knew, everyone wanted their weddings recorded.”

“That’s mad,” Alex says. “Some of them must be in the same position as we are. What are the chances of so many spontaneous weddings happening on the _third_ night of the singles’ cruise. Plus, they all look…”

“Pretty wild and out of it?”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees.

“Well, what does your…” Tom’s eyes flick to Yassen. Alex can already hear him say ‘ _sugar daddy’_ in his head and he will pay sorely for that, “…think about all this.”

Yassen has been pretty quiet in his corner, sitting in his usual position that somehow brings attention to his corded forearms. “I have my suspicions,” he says. “Think about it, shall we? Half of the people on board being affected while others, like your friend, are completely untouched.”

A thought pings at the back of his mind. “A lot of the people who came up to congratulate us on our marriage said something along the lines of drinking too much,” Alex says. “But what are the odds of so many people drinking to oblivion and getting married right after? You think there’s something in the alcohol that makes people go all kooky? But I don’t even remember drinking anything last night.”

“That’s because you drank from my glass,” Yassen points out.

“Oh,” Alex says, because he does tend to treat Yassen’s food as free real estate. “That explains a lot actually.”

“Yeah, it’s true. I didn’t drink anything last night. Too busy shooting people’s wedding videos,” Tom says.

“So I guess that’s the plan for tonight,” Alex asks. “We need to view the security films and for that, we need to find out where their room is first.”

“Done,” Yassen says. “There are two rooms, but the one in charge of the assembly and dining hall is on the second floor under the deck, second door to the right from the end of the hallway.”

“How do you know all this already?”

“Efficiency, Sasha. I would have thought you had the ship mapped out before you stepped on it, no?”

“Well,” Alex says, cheeks hot to the touch. “Bold of you to assume that MI6 actually does _any_ kind of deep research before they send me in, _Yasha._ ”

Yassen reels back, as if physically struck. He blinks. “Huh,” he says, after a few moments of silence. “Where did you get that name?”

Suddenly, Alex stumbles, a little off foot. Yassen isn’t an easy man to stun in any kind of situation. “Isn’t that… Last night you were talking about diminutives and I thought that Yassen would be…”

“No, not quite.”

“Oh,” Alex says, trying not to sound too deflated.

“I like it,” Yassen says. “It has been a while since anyone called me by Yasha… but I suppose you may. As my husband.”

There goes his fluttering heart again. His bottom lip dries, and Alex wets it with his tongue. “And if I wasn’t your husband?”

Yassen’s voice is all silk and warm honey dripping on his senses. “Then you may call me Yasha,” he says. “As Alex Rider.” 

“Uhm, guys. I’m still here,” Tom says. “Again.”

This time, there’s a visible tic on Yassen’s jaw.

Tom’s sense of self-preservation has come a long way since the incident with Parker Roscoe. Like a bunny rabbit on the verge of becoming a satay stick, Tom bolts from his seat. “I suddenly remember that I need to follow up on some payments!” he says, shuffling towards the door. “You know how it goes. Hustle, hustle, hustle! Drunk people are some of the most generous tippers so, uhm, gotta go fast!”

Poor Tom, Alex thinks. One day he’s going to realise that Yassen is only partially joking half the time. Partially.

Now that they’re alone. The air between them shifts, like the tides of ocean wading in and out. Something about Yassen always simultaneously bolsters his confidence while tempering his boldness. Disobeying or ignoring him is fine. Being reckless is fine. But it does not feel right to have slighted him so personally.

Picking under his fingernails, Alex asks. “Is it really okay for me to be calling you Yasha?”

Yassen tilts his head. “Are you worried? That I won’t like you calling me by a pet name?”

Alex puffs his cheeks out. “Forget it. If you’re going to be a dick about it—”

His tirade is broken by a laugh. Yassen’s hand sneaks over his and he holds on, even as Alex grumpily (and half-heartedly) tugs it away to no avail. There is humour twinkling in Yassen’s eyes, and Alex wonders how he ever thought he could keep up with Yassen’s off-beat kind of humour.

“There is a story behind that name,” Yassen says, squeezing his hand. “I will tell you after our jobs are done, yes?”

“So you’re going to stay?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re actually going to stay?” Alex can’t help the bitterness in his voice. “Can you blame me for asking when you always leave with no word or no number to contact you with?”

Frowning, Yassen says, “Sasha—”

“It’s Alex,” Alex interrupts.

“We can’t pretend that you don’t work for the people who want to imprison me if they ever get the chance.”

“Why? You ignore it all the time whenever you feel like it.”

“Would you leave your friends and family behind? That is what life with an assassin is like.”

“Would you give me reason to? You are retired now, aren’t you?”

This time, Yassen is the one who is quiet. Alex takes the chance to slip his hand out from underneath Yassen’s.

“It’s not like I’m going to turn you in or anything,” Alex says. “I just don’t want to… you know if you’re just going to leave again.”

Alex stands up abruptly. Suddenly, he can’t stay in this room. It’s too stuffy and he could easily lose himself in Yassen if he’s not careful.

“I’m going to find Tom and maybe look around the place,” Alex announces. “Find me when you’re ready to—yeah.”

He follows in Tom’s wake and the door clicks softly behind him.

* * *

His nerves start acting up when Yassen doesn’t find him by eight. He considers going to the security room by himself, but maybe Yassen found trouble on the way? Alex highly doubts it though. Trouble that Yassen himself can’t deal with? That’s almost unheard of.

He settles for waiting in Yassen’s room, not quite twiddling with his thumb but not really either—Jesus. He doesn’t even make sense now. Around twenty to eleven— _two hours_ of Alex waiting in Yassen’s room, Yassen’s door finally swings open.

Alex springs to his feet. “Where the hell were you? I was waiting for ages and you never came!”

Yassen pauses in the doorway. “Alex,” he says. “Took a walk to clear my head.”

Then, he rummages his pocket and hands Alex a Micro SD card before sitting on the bed.

“What’s this?” Alex says, turning it over in his hand. “Is this the footage from last night?”

“It’s information about the substance you’re searching for.”

 _“What?”_ Alex sits on the bed. “I thought you said you went out on a walk to clear your head!”

Shrugging, Yassen says, “I did. And the walk took me to the second floor of the ship. I couldn’t let the opportunity past.”

“No,” Alex says, shaking his head. “No way. There’s no way this whole thing can be so easy. There’s no way.”

A small quirk forms at the corner of Yassen’s lips, the same side of his scar. “Not everything has to end in explosions and an evil twin attempting to kill you. Although I could see why you would think so.”

“It’s still just too easy.” Alex pokes his bottom lip out.

“It’s efficient.”

“And you’re just giving it to me? Why?”

“I was only hired for surveillance.”

“You can’t… you can’t actually _mean_ that,” Alex says, a little bit a drift. “How do I know if this is even the right stuff?”

Yassen nods over to the computer, and Alex sticks the SD card in the reader. Soon, his eyes are bugging out from reading the screen in front of him.

“Unbelievable,” Alex mutters to himself. “This has to be something out of a spy movie. A drug which leaves the user highly vulnerable suggestions. Developed by the CIA! This is madness. Tom’s going to get a kick out of this.”

“You don’t believe the CIA of being capable of such things?”

“Well, no. Everyone’s heard of Project MK-Ultra. I don’t doubt the CIA would try their hand at mind control programs again. I’m just… surprised that MI6 would be sending me to retrieve something that belonged to the CIA. Aren’t they like…”

“Friends?” Yassen scoffs. “Government bodies do not have friends, Sasha. Look at what they’re willing to do to their own people.”

“I thought you didn’t call me that anymore.”

“Pardon?”

“Sasha.” Alex licks his lips. “You started calling me by Alex again—but then you gave the SD card—and I don’t know—”

It’s as if Yassen sees right through him—the veil of Alex Rider the spy, hiding nothing more than Alex Rider, the boy abandoned by his uncle, father, mother and, finally, by his government, time and time again.

Alex stands fidgeting, unsure of what he should with his hands. Yassen watches him, and it’s as if Alex can trace the arc of Yassen’s thought process. It ends up with him looking almost exasperatedly fond.

Slowly, Yassen runs his hands just above Alex’s elbows, and he tugs Alex down to sit in his lap. Alex lets himself be arranged, pliant (as last night clearly proven) and willing.

 _Ask me if I want to stay married,_ Alex urges in his mind. _Ask me. I’ll say yes._

He just needs help with the start of it all. Every time Alex opens his mouth to say it himself, it feels like he got turned into a frog who’s about to be dumped in a pot of boiling water.

“I have been thinking about what you said,” Yassen says, hand settling right at his waist. His thumb rubs soothing circles against Alex’s shirt. “Retirement offers me new avenues of opportunity. To you, I am Yassen.” His hands cup Alex’s cheek. “I may even be Yasha. To everyone else, however, I can be someone different,” Yassen says. “Someone legally untouchable by MI6. It would be a shame to have saved up all this money to not spend it spoiling my husband, no?”

A sharp inhale from Alex. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”

“The suite here is very nice, but I’m not too attached.”

Alex punches Yassen’s shoulder, but it’s half-hearted and weak. “Not that, silly. We’re… we’re really doing this, huh?”

Instead of responding, Yassen brings up Alex’s left hand and presses his lips against the spot right under his wedding band. The scruff of Yassen’s stubble tickles the back of his fingers. Alex wiggles them, all the while something light and fluffy bubbles in his chest. 

“I suppose it won’t be that bad to have a rich, older husband spoiling me rotten,” Alex says, before kissing him.

Before long, Yassen and Alex fall backwards onto the bed, only breaking apart to grin against each other’s mouth.

* * *

+++

* * *

Alex has long lost track of himself and where he’s supposed to be. Something about his hunch and bringing him here. Was it because he was hungry? He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember when Yassen started sitting down beside him. All he knows is that the lights are too bright, the people are too happy, and Bruno Mars is being way too loud on the speakers right now.

Yassen’s humming along with the chorus as it is. Considering that his mouth is pretty occupied with tasting the skin on Alex’s neck, that’s a pretty amazing feat.

The humming does tickle a bit, though, and a giggle escapes from Alex’s chest.

“Do you want to stay the night in my room?” Yassen murmurs in a low voice. “I think you do. You should stay the night in my room, Alex.”

Scrunching his nose, Alex thinks on it. It is tempting, and Yassen did let Alex just snag all his drinks for himself, but…

“Nah,” Alex says, shakes his head. “Don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t feel like waking up alone, you know?”

“No, because I’ve no plans to leave.”

“Yeah,” Alex says. “For _now._ ”

“Alex.” Yassen grabs hold of his chin and gently redirects Alex’s attention back to him. “What can I do that will change your mind?”

“Nothing. Unless you can solemnly promise that you’ll always come back.”

“Alright then. Marry me.”

“What?”

“A vow. A legal binding,” Yassen says. “Why not? You were already the beneficiary of my assets were I to die anyways.”

“I still—what?”

“I’m an old-fashioned man, Alex. I’ve always wanted to get married.” His hands squeezes Alex's thigh, just above his knees. "You think someone like Harris could keep up? No. You need an older man to keep you in line. An older man who can spoil you rotten, the way you deserved to be, Sashenka."

Alex has a million questions about Yassen’s statement and a million objections to Yassen’s suggestion, he’s sure of it. He just—needs to remember them right now. His thoughts are muddled by the feel and scent of Yassen around him. By the way Yassen’s unyielding body moulds itself around Alex, without him even asking to, and by his voice sinking down to Alex’s very bones.

Coming home to Yassen every day… resting soundly in Yassen's arms... yeah, he can get used to that.

_(Who cares, baby? I think I want to marry you.)_

“What are we going to sign on the certificate?” Alex yells over the music. “Is Yassen even your real name?”

At this, Yassen smiles and he puts his lips right next to Alex’s ear.

**Author's Note:**

> [Marry You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4is5FM5GnoU) by Bruno Mars


End file.
